


Slowhand

by 69inthe67impala



Category: J2 - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/69inthe67impala/pseuds/69inthe67impala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is an up and coming actor looking for connections in the entertainment industry.  Through a series of friends, he meets Jensen, a singer/song writer who uses drugs as an inspiration incentive.   When his habit gets out of control and he becomes increasingly violent, Jared can’t handle the way it changes Jensen and gives him an ultimatum; either him or the drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greyhound Bus

            The Greyhound bus hummed along the highway noisily, though the sound faded into the background like a jet engine in mid-flight, not really bothering the passengers who had uprooted themselves for something that was anywhere but here.  There were dried droplets of rain from a storm long passed on the tinted windows and bubbles in the dark screen from a half-assed job, but they were only entertaining for a second or two.  The scenery moved slowly from afar but blurred up close, fading into a dull orange color that was gradually turning red as the sun set.  There wasn’t anything to look at except the horizon.

            Jared adjusted the ear buds pumping music in his ears, trying to drown out the snoring from the man in the seat just ahead of him, and he wondered how in the hell he didn’t wake himself up.  He thought back to all the bus trips he had taken when he was on the basketball team in high school.  The trips weren’t as long as this one, but there was something familiar about the atmosphere.  The air was stale, patches on the seat were dark with what Jared hoped was spilled soda, and there was one loud mouth teenager making sure the whole bus knew he was there.  He didn’t even want to be on the basketball team, but his height got him a lot of attention, especially from the coach who was desperate to have a team that at least looked as if they could play.  And Jared was decent, but he wasn’t very fond of it.  The whole idea was pitched to him as a fall back.  Sports will get you scholarships.  Drama gets you a bunch of homophobic slurs.

            Slurs happened all the time regardless.  Boys in high school were always a bunch of shit heads, and for some reason, the idea of male bonding was to call each other gay as often as possible while simultaneously engaging in homoerotic behavior.  Grabbing each other’s asses, trying to get other boys to look at their dicks, all while screaming ‘faggot’ as they pranced around naked in the locker room. 

            “Padalecki!  Nice defense out there, kid.  Shower up,” the coach would comment after every game.

            “JarPad,” they’d snicker, nudging Jared or smacking him with a towel.  “What’s it like to be named after a fucking bloody napkin?”

            “Couldn’t tell you,” Jared would reply, “but I sure get a lot more pussy than you do.”  At least he had wit.

            It wasn’t entirely unenjoyable, but it really wasn’t his scene either.  He’d just much rather be involved in something that required more effort outside of being just physically capable to bounce a ball with one hand and run at the same time.

            He had negotiated the terms of his involvement with the basketball team so that they didn’t interfere with the plays he had been cast in.  Unfortunately, he was only able to play that card once since the drama teacher favored only a select few.  They’d mumble through the lines, screw up cues, and deliver all wrong, especially the lead girl, Nicki.  It was discovered soon enough that it wasn’t her ‘God-given’ talent that got her to the top, but an early start in knowing the business of sexual favors.  And why the hell was it Nicki?  Not to say what he did was okay, but Nicki was slim-pickings.  She couldn’t act her way out of a wet paper bag.  Everyone had to figure out that something creepy was going between the two of them, or the teacher was purposefully making a mockery of the art of acting.  Either way, Mr. Seagraves was fired and drama took an unexpected hiatus as the investigation went on for the rest of semester.  So basketball it was until the end of his senior year.

            Jared left basketball back in high school in his hometown, along with the support of his family, and his two best friends who promised they’d keep in touch.  He tapped the scratched letters on his CD player that read ‘anti-skip’ as his CD hiccupped, soon falling back into the right rhythm from the persuasion of his finger.  He told himself he’d get a new one as soon as he had the money, the one that was MP3 compatible so he could burn CDs with more than just 12 to 14 songs.  Right now, all the money he had saved up was for about 2 months rent in a crappy studio apartment, hence the Greyhound bus and not an airplane.  The suffering he endured in this painstakingly long road trip with strangers was a reminder of the hard times to come, but Jared knew it’d be worth it.  Something was calling for him out east, and he knew he’d find it.  


	2. Mean Old Frisco

27 E had been bug bombed three separate times; just enough to barely leave the air safe to breathe but at least the infestation had finally been managed.  Jared really wanted to tear that ugly stained beige carpet up because something told him there was probably a decent wood floor beneath it, but considering he was just renting, there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.  Cheap furniture he found online rested in three corners of his apartment, giving it a sense of purpose but still being open without looking empty.  A double sized bed resided in the last corner with no frame and old sheets, decorated with books and plays near the foot of it.  These were the plays he was most fond of and new scripts he was acquainting himself with for future auditions.  There was also a folder with 20 copies of his head shot, glossy with his name printed in black ink down in the right hand corner. 

Elysian Fields Apartment Complex was like what Hollywood Blvd at 2am was to Los Angeles, sucking the glamour right out of the name and littering it with street peddlers looking to score a fix.  It was eerie, like Twilight Zone status where every eyehole was literally an eye, shifting back and forth with no eyelids to replenish that cracking dryness.  Crack heads.  Not to say the entire place was some crack den, but Jared figured it was better to keep to himself as opposed to risking the chance of waking up without a kidney.  He just kept his head down and refused to make eye contact with the passing doors as he made his way out of the building.  This was a temporary living arrangement anyway, and any reason to leave or hang out elsewhere was appreciated.

A shoulder made contact with his and his headshots fluttered to the ground, scattering around his feet and a pair of heavy, mud caked boots.

“Watch where you’re going, huh?”

“Sorry,” Jared mumbled, keeping his eyes lowered still to try and defuse any aggressive action that might come as a reply.

“Damn right you are,” a gruff voice replied before a pair of hands joined him to help pick up the smiles he had dropped.  “Pretty boys walking around here like they own the damn place.”

“Sorry,” he murmured again before his eyes rolled up to meet the other male.  He was an older man, mid 50s to early 60s with deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and his cheeks were a bit sunken in.  He was shorter than Jared, though bulkier. 

“What are you, a model or something?”

“No sir.  I’m an actor.”

“Let me guess.  You really want to direct, huh?  Don’t your kind head out to California or something to make it big?  Hollywood?” he asked as he handed Jared’s photos over, his expression observant with a touch of condescension.

_Your kind_.  Jared shook his head, knowing that he must have looked like one of those clueless assholes that came in blind to try and make it big in the bigger city, only to end up in a shit hole apartment working waiting jobs as his dream steadily died. 

“I don’t really want to be on screen.  Just on the stage,” Jared explained and the old man laughed at him.

“Ha!  They’ll chew you up and spit you out with a resume like this.  Don’t you know anything, kid?  How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“And where did these headshots come from?  You do ‘em yourself?”

“No.. I went over on 37th street and—“

“You went to Richard’s place?  No wonder these are shit.  He’s a hack.  Here, if you want decent portraits that won’t get you laughed at right out the gate, go to Layla on 4th.  It’s a place called ‘Razor’.  The logo looks like a razor and a camera all in one, you can’t miss it.”

“Oh, okay,” Jared replied on instinct, a bit thrown off by the sudden advice and help he was receiving from someone he anticipated might stab him a few moments ago.  “Layla?”

“Yeah, tell ‘em ‘Mean Old Frisco’ sent ya.”

“Frisco?”

“What’s the matter with you, are you hard of hearing or something?”

“No, I’m sorry.  Layla, Frisco sent me,” he nodded and tucked the rest of his headshots away.

“Mean Old Frisco!” the elder man replied with a raised voice as he pointed at Jared, now making his way down the hall.  He glanced over his shoulder at Frisco as he heard him laugh, unsure of whether or not he should take his advice.  He seemed… sober enough.  And it never really hurt to check out a photo place, especially if he had more of a chance to be taken seriously at auditions. 

 

Jared pushed open the door to the photography shop, having no problem spotting it, just as Frisco had claimed.  A chime went off in the back as the door eased closed and Jared glanced around, having to lean a bit to his right to catch a glimpse of the studio in the back.

“Yeah, one sec!” came a voice, soft and pleasant.  She sounded young, and when she came from the back and greeted Jared with a perfectly straight and white smile, she looked just as young as she sounded.  “Hi, welcome to Razor.  How can I help you?”

“Yeah, hi.  Are you Layla?”

She perked a brow as she set her palms flat against the counter, leaning forward slightly as her eyes surveyed him.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“Uh.. ‘Mean Old Frisco’ sent me,” Jared replied, wearing a sheepish smile. 

“No shit,” she grinned before she gave a nod of her head and gestured for Jared to follow her to the back.  “How is the bastard?  Still on stage?”

“I wouldn’t know.  I just met him.  He saw these and sent me here.”  Jared followed and shifted his portfolio to his other hand, extending them out to Layla when she reached for them.

“Good thing.  These are crap,” she laughed. 

“So ‘Mean—‘, I mean Frisco, he does plays?” Jared asked, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Oh yeah.  Sort of a local legend around here,” Layla replied and threw an up and down gaze over her shoulder at Jared as a kittenish smirk pulled at her lips.  “You must be new to the area.  Frisco worked his way up from the bottom in local plays.  Almost caught a break on Broadway before he was injured.  His wife up and left him after that because she was pretty sure his shot at fame went up in smoke.”

Jared followed until Layla was adjusting her backdrops.  He stood awkwardly to the side, his lips pulled tighter than they should have been in a weird smile.  Layla continued.

“She divorced him, took half of his shit, and left him with the medical bills.  He never really made a comeback on the big stage, but he still likes to be around the scene, stay a part of the community, y’know?”

“So I’m guessing that’s where the ‘mean, old’ title comes from?” Jared asked afterward, posting up against the nearest wall.

Layla gave a shrug and turned to look back at Jared, giving a gesture of her head towards the stool she had placed in front of the backdrop.  “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Sure,” Jared retorted, moving to take a seat.

“Or he gave himself that title to make it seem like he’s some sort of badass,” she chuckled and moved to stand behind her camera, studying him briefly.  “You know… he must see something in you if he’s trying to help you out.”

Jared’s eyebrows pulled together slightly.  “I just bumped into him in the hallway.  I actually thought he might kick my ass.”

“Yeah, well Frisco’s got some strange ways about him.  But he does always manage to send me the pretty ones.”  Layla grinned and got behind her camera, focusing it.

Jared could feel his expression loosen as he gave a soft laugh, looking away coyly.  At least he was finally getting somewhere in terms of making contacts.  It had been a month of auditions and no callbacks, but it felt like he had a toe wedged in the door.

“Hey Layla,” Jared started, running a hand through his hair as he sat up a bit straighter.  “Would you, uh.. would you mind introducing me to the ‘scene’ around here?”

“Actors,” Layla huffed behind the camera, taking a few test shots during her pause.  “Always looking for some sort of break through as opposed to asking for a proper date.”

Jared gave another laugh with a smile, just in time for Layla to snap one more picture.

“Got it,” she grinned.  


	3. Sign Language

            Musty couches, stale beer in the air, lingering cigarette smoke, and white Christmas lights getting use all year round by being decorations on someone’s garage wall seemed so angsty/artsy teen.    Minimalist, it was called apparently, getting back in touch with that flicker of true rebellion against parents’ wishes, taking shit from no one while doing whatever the fuck they wanted to do.  Vinyl records, of course, none of that top 40s bullshit ever graced these cement quarters, and requests were taken rarely.  The only time the record player was given a rest was when there was live music, which was typically acoustic and by a friend of a friend whose about to make a big break. 

            Honestly, they all sounded the same.  Kinda whiny, and every time someone would ask about their methods, they’d answer with some bullshit about being experimental because it was easier than saying they had no idea what the hell they were doing.  It wasn’t original, it wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was entertaining.  There was something about live music that just brought the group together.  Well, live music and weed, but at the moment, Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” was the background music, if only temporarily.

            “Hey, Spence, who’s the entertainment tonight?”

            “Uh, that’s Jen.  Jen squared,” Spencer replied.  Spencer was Layla’s sister, three years her senior who looked a lot like Layla, but with darker hair and slightly crooked teeth.  She had renovated the garage of the house she inherited from her parents as the universal hangout room, or at least where a majority of the music was played and technically the only room inside people were allowed to smoke in. 

            “Ah, Gen and Jen,” Layla murmured, handing a beer to Jared.  Jared glanced up from his cell phone to take the offered bottle.  “Gen, Genevieve, another play fiend.. I think you’ve met her here before once or twice.  Anyway, she has a friend named Jensen, or y’know, Jen.  Hence Jen squared,” she explained.

            “Cool,” Jared replied in a non-committal manner, sipping at his beer before returning his attention back to his phone. 

            “What, are you too cool to meet new people now?  It’s only been a month since I started bringing you here, Jared,” Layla murmured through a grin.

            “Huh?  No, of course not.  So new Jen, is she an actress or musician?”

            “He.  He’s a musician.”

            “Jensen’s a dude’s name?”

            “Why is that surprising?” Spencer asked as she plopped down next to Layla and Jared, reclining back and watching as people bustled about. 

            “Honestly, nothing really surprises me nowadays,” Jared retorted, tucking his phone away for the time being. 

There was a knock on the garage door, the thin metal rattling more than it should before Spencer opened it up with a push of a button on the garage opener.  As it opened slowly, there were two pairs of legs being revealed, one being denim clad, the other in tight black material.  As it crept higher towards mid-thigh level, the bottom of a guitar case was revealed before faded words reading ‘Led Zeppelin’ could be made out towards the bottom of the male’s shirt.

“Speak of the devil,” Spencer greeted them, getting up to welcome them inside with a grin and a hug to both.  “Gen, you know Jared.  Jen, you don’t.”

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Jensen greeted Jared and Jared stood, adjusting his beer to the other hand so he could shake the other male’s hand.  Jensen had to shift his gaze higher than expected, and Jared could tell his height wasn’t really expected by the additional centimeter the blonde’s lips pulled once the were shaking hands.  He could feel the calluses on the tips of his fingers, obviously from years of playing guitar, but his palms were soft.  Warm too, and he had a nice firm grip.

“Yeah, nice to meet you.”

“You can set up over there,” Spencer interrupted.  Jared turned his attention to Gen once Jensen had disengaged and departed.

“Hey there, big boy,” Gen greeted and went in for a hug.

“Hey Gen,” he responded with a quick pat on her back.  Her eyes lingered on Jared even as she walked away to go and greet the other individuals, and Jared held eye contact briefly with a small tilt of his head before he felt a nudge against his back.

“Ooh, go get ‘em, tiger.” Layla grinned.

“What?  Oh, whatever,” Jared shook his head before he smoothed a hand through his hair, redirecting his attention anywhere else.  What his eyes did find was Jensen sitting with his guitar in his lap, making minor adjustments to the tuning and strumming lightly.  He raised his eyebrows slightly right as Jensen looked up, holding eye contact for a few moments.  Jensen smiled at him, but not one of those forced smiles when people don’t want to look like creeps for getting caught staring at strangers, but an actual smile, putting his teeth on display and making Jared realize just how pink his lips were in comparison to the white sets of porcelain.  It confused him for a moment and he tilted his head again before he realized Jensen was waving at him from across the room, and he waved back awkwardly.

“Man, what is wrong with you?”

Jared turned his head abruptly to glance at Layla who looked just as confused as he felt.  What _was_ wrong with him?  Was he just not expecting the attention or was it the weed making his cognitive process decline to that of a snail on the world’s slowest treadmill? 

“Remind me next time that you’re more socially inept than I remember.”

“What?  I’m not— ”

“Why don’t you try conversation, maybe?  Or I guess staring at each other from across the room works if you’re into that whole bedrooms eyes get up.”

Jared cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing back over towards Jensen, still looking in his general direction as he ran his fingers up the neck of the guitar, creating a pretty little pattern against the strings.

“Seriously, Gen looks like she’s going to eat you alive.”

“You think so?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Hey uh, so how close are those two considering you call them Jen squared?” Jared asked, giving a small nod of his head in a subtle gesture.

“Close enough, why?”

“Just curious.”


End file.
